


eyes on me

by cowboykillers



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykillers/pseuds/cowboykillers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took a while, but eventually Tony began to look at Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It started out as a feeling.

It took some time for Tony to actually look at Steve. The problem was that he'd already made up his mind a very long time ago about what kind of man Captain America was, and the fact of the matter was, Captain America was everything that Tony could never be. There were history books that waxed poetic about him, but you could always trust history books to make the good guys seem better and the bad guys seem worse, so maybe if the good Captain had just been a figure in the pages of a book that he wasted his time on in high school, everything would have been easier. But he wasn't. Captain America, unfortunately, had been alive and well and _thriving_ in the Stark household for as long as Tony could remember, and even though the history books were kind to him, they had nothing on Howard Stark.

Maybe it was ego, because Howard had helped create him. Maybe it was just pride in his work, because Tony didn't believe for one goddamn second that _sentiment_ had his father pouring endless funds into the search for a surely-dead man for so many years. But there was one thing Tony knew for certain, one absolutely inalienable truth, and that was the following:

Howard Stark did not _give_ empty compliments. Howard Stark did not exaggerate the strength, the brilliance, the wonder of anyone, not even himself. So while maybe the history books he could have blown off, the fact that Howard thought so damn highly of Captain America could only mean one thing, and that was that Captain America was exactly everything he was cracked up to be.

And that was just fucking rude, wasn't it?

So the fact of that matter was, Tony didn't look at Steve because he didn't have to. All he could see was Captain America, the perfect soldier and perfect man with the perfect attitude, and it was so much easier when that was all he was, so that was all Tony looked for. Since he'd never had a chance to elbow his way into his father's eyes and his father was dead he decided he'd never really cared, anyway, and automatically anything his father had ever cared about was shit and therefore Captain America was shit, and --

And he didn't believe it, himself, not really, but every time he gouged a little hole into Captain America's armor he felt a little better, except not really.

He felt like shit.

But he was used to it.

And then something changed, something just outside of his control and he normally liked those fringe effects, they were really interesting, they were what caught his attention and held it, but not when it came to people. Tony liked the unexpected in his science, he liked when he put one and one together and somehow it made three when he turned his hand just like _that_ , and he could figure out why, and he could do things that no one else could do. He liked machines because he could take them apart and build them back up better than they were, and there was always room to improve them. He could set them down and walk away and they never asked him where he'd been, how he was feeling, why did he treat them this way, what the hell was going through his mind -- they just didn't. And technology, science, both of them held possibilities, special, unique pathways into the future that only he could find because there was no one better at what Tony Stark did than Tony Stark himself. But people? Emotions, feelings, how to deal with people beyond the surface?

How could you learn something that wasn't written down in books, that you couldn't take apart and put back together, that you had to learn from being _shown_ , if no one ever showed you? So he dealt with the surface of people, the parts that were easy, and he dove into the machines. He tore them apart because he could, and nobody ever got hurt when he did that, and he could make the machines better. And maybe he thought that if he tore Captain America down and broke him he could put him back together in a way that he could understand.

But he couldn't. Tear him apart. And he couldn't understand him, either.

Captain America should have given up on him a thousand times. He'd read Tony's dossier and he knew how he was, and Tony had made absolutely no effort to prove anyone wrong. Why should he? He was Tony fucking _Stark_. He didn't play by the rules because he lived above the rules, and no one was really ever disappointed in him anymore, not really, because no one expected anything of him. Ever. And that was how he liked it.

(That was what he said. He _said_ that was how he liked it, and he was a damn good liar, and sometimes he almost halfway convinced himself, but then Pepper would look at him with her pretty lips so flat and hard or Rhodey's right hand would tense or _Captain America_ 's brows would pinch and, hell, they could still make him feel bad. That wasn't _fair_. He lived the way he did because fuck the police, and he wasn't supposed to feel bad _ever_ , but they were people and he couldn't program them to do what he wanted so he really should just leave them alone and throw them away, but he wasn't a strong enough man to do that.)

But the thing was, and it was the stupidest thing, but Captain America really was just enough of a good man that he kept seeing something in Tony and kept giving him chances. And then it happened, it was stupid, but it happened anyway, and Hulk screamed and Tony woke up, and his wild gaze landed and there was a smile of such _relief_ that it actually hurt a little to behold.

And for once, he was looking at Steve Rogers, the man who cut him down to his bones in a way that nobody had ever been able to do except his goddamn old man, except there was relief and pleasure and affection in his face, and it was impossible to take the moment back.

So Tony didn't, he just decided to ignore it, and when all was said and done he shook Steve's hand and smiled and drove off with Bruce, because Bruce was probably the only individual who hated himself more than Tony hated himself and hey, this was something he had experience with and maybe there was something to that whole idea of "misery loves company" even when you were ignoring your own misery.

But he'd looked at Steve, and he'd seen Steve, and the knowledge of that was like a single finger, pressing just over his heart harder and harder until he couldn't ignore the little stab of discomfort.


	2. Which then grew into a hope.

It wasn't that Tony was purposefully avoiding Steve; it was simply that he had a goddamn lot of work to do. Loki had been kind enough to absolutely trash several floors of his tower, and because he was Tony Stark it was never a matter of simply just restoring the place to what it had been. Devastation and destruction were an opportunity to completely redo the place and make it _better_ \-- and never let anyone say that Tony wasn't an optimist, because if he could look at what was essentially his home and be more cheered by the fact that he could make it better than he was sad by the fact that it had been gutted, he was either very optimistic or very broken and the latter was not an option he was going to entertain -- and he already had five separate models for how he wanted to redo the top floors. While he was at it, he might as well redo the whole damn thing, or at the very least refurnish it. Why not? He had time, money, and vision.

And he might as well devote another floor to his personal labs, because if he was going to have Bruce around more and more they'd both need someplace to go to avoid each other, and Bruce's scientific needs were different from Tony's, anyway. See? He was considerate.

And busy. The tracks of oil making their way up to his elbows were proof enough of that, as was the fact that Jarvis had been periodically reminding him to get up and eat every hour, on the hour, for the past five hours.

Ugh, food.

"Sir, I really must--"

"I know, I know." Tony wheeled around in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes and then immediately regretting it once he realized he'd essentially given himself coon eyes. He rubbed his palms (semi) clean on his tank top, frowning a little at the new hole near the hem, and tried to knuckle the oil away from his cheek. "Time to eat, or you're going to call Pepper and she's going to skin me alive, and then she won't sleep with me because... You know, I don't know why. Something's wrong with that woman sometimes."

His smile was fond as he leaned back, rubbing his chin. Jarvis, as monumentally unhelpful as anything Tony designed could be, said dryly, "Miss Potts is very busy, largely due to--"

"Yes, I know. Who made you so sassy? That was such a bad move." He rose, rolling the kinks out of his neck and lifting his arms high above his head. Yeah, maybe it was break time. Maybe it was time to descend to the kitchens and see if there was anything even remotely resembling food that he could shove in his mouth, satisfy his mommy-AI, and get back to work. "Memo to self: reprogram Jarvis. Note that."

"Certainly, Sir."

"You did not take that note. That's fine, I didn't mean it." The nice thing about holding a conversation with an AI was that he never had to break stride in conversation. Walking, looking for something, cooking, peeing, showering -- if he needed Jarvis, he just had to say the word and whatever stray thought he wanted to keep from escaping would be documented and stored for future reference.

"Television on, volume max. Give me the news, Jarvis," he said, padding barefoot into the kitchen.

The nice thing about being an Avenger was that, apparently, you had one incident with space aliens trying to destroy New York and then you just sort of got to go home, get back to your life, and wait until your special superhero hotline went off again. Tony still kept an eye on the news because it was habit, and also because he'd made the Iron Man suit and nobody could tell him how high to jump no matter how dearly they wished they could (Fury) and he liked to be abreast of criminal activity.

The familiar voice filtering in from the other room stopped him short as he washed his hands, though, and he craned his neck. "Jarvis?"

"A clip of the recent interview with Captain Rogers is being played."

"What's he being interviewed for?" Tony demanded, and then winced at his own tone. Wow, Stark. Chill. He snatched a banana up off the counter, flipped it over and opened it the _proper way_ , thank you very much, and took a healthy bite as he sauntered out.

There he was, Captain America in all his glory, except he was apparently just Steve Rogers. His hair was slicked back and there was dirt and dust on his face, which... really, Rogers? Was that strategic? Tony narrowed his eyes and studied his outfit, which basically screamed construction worker from the still-obviously-really-new jeans to the fitted tee shirt and the heavy gloves that he was slapping into one open palm. What the hell was he doing, anyway?

As though reading his thoughts, Jarvis helpfully supplied, "Due to the lack of missions, Captain Rogers has been assisting in the clean-up. The interview itself is three point four minutes long."

Tony leaned forward a bit, peering at the television screen. If he hadn't had the rare opportunity (hah) to see the other man pissed, up close, and personal, he might not have noticed the annoyance in his face, but it was plain as day. And a little weird, he thought, to not have it directed at him. Though they'd parted on pretty decent terms overall, Tony hadn't exactly made any great effort to keep up with Steve and vice versa, so he assumed they would just keep their distance until they had to play nice, and that was that.

"-everyone's really giving it their all, so we'll have this cleaned up in no time. I should really get back."

"Can you comment on the fact that you're the only Avenger on the scene?" Tony clenched his fist around the banana, a little horrified when it smushed out and a chunk rolled over his knuckles and dropped to the floor.

Steve frowned, that impressive, full-face frown that had the reporter shrinking back just a little bit. "Ma'am, the fact of the matter is, I'm the only Avenger at the moment who has the freedom in schedule to be here. We're all pitching in how we can."

"Of course, certainly." Her eyebrows ticked up, and Tony scowled at the television when she added, "And of course, some would rather help indirectly than directly. I think what you're doing here is admirable."

Steve stilled, tipping his head slightly at her. "Ma'am," he said, slowly. "I don't think you meant offense by that, but let me tell you right now: The people who help indirectly, who pay the wages of the workers cleaning up out here, or donate their money or their gear or their machines to the cause? That's just as admirable. Everyone's helping," he added, slipping his gloves back on his hands. "And if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to it."

It was stupid to think that Steve had included him in that. The guy barely knew him, for one, and for two, he could have no idea that Stark Industries was currently pouring considerable funding into the restoration of the damaged areas of New York. But there was that feeling again, like maybe this time it was two fingers, but they weren't pressing down. They were rubbing a little, coaxing, and before he realized it, he had his hand to his chest, kneading the scar tissue above what was left of his heart.

"Kill it," he muttered, and the screen went blank immediately, leaving only a reflection of his slightly troubled face.


	3. Which then turned into a quiet thought.

They had a series of incidents, and Tony was trying very hard not to sound as gleeful about that as he felt. He mostly tried for Pepper's sake, because each and every time she'd catch him on the news doing some heroic but batshit crazy maneuver in the face of a supervillain she had a small heart attack. He really had to start remembering to call her and let her know that he was about to go risk life and limb and possibly end up piggybacking a nuclear warhead into another dimension.

It was probably the thing nice, responsible boyfriends did.

(Tony had never been a nice, responsible boyfriend, so he maintained that Pepper should be used to him forgetting minor details like this. Except she didn't think it was a minor detail, and he could feel it, every single time, when he came back -- she was so glad he'd come back safe, but she was a little further from him every time, too. She just couldn't live like this, Happy had told him flatly, when he'd finally worked up the balls to ask if maybe he was just reading too far into things, and maybe that was true. Maybe she just couldn't live like this.

Maybe he couldn't live any other way.)

But it was absurdly easy to push Pepper to the back of his mind when it was time to suit up and take on the forces of evil. And it had absolutely nothing to do with Pepper, either; she was smart, vivacious, attractive, independent -- everything he liked in a woman. He adored Pepper. Pepper had stuck with him through far more than anyone had a reasonable right to, which made him think that Pepper was also just a little bit insane, which honestly kind of worked for him. It was just that everything else went to the background when he was Iron Man.

It was just a fact of life. He put on the suit and it was him and Jarvis, it was technical screens and the rush of adrenaline, it was the bone-deep feeling that _this is what he was meant to do_ , because there really couldn't be any other reason he was still alive. Not that he'd figured out, anyway, and he was a goddamn genius, so if there had been anything else, he'd have put his finger on it. He'd decided he was meant to be Iron Man and that meant he was supposed to try to reset the cosmic balance that he'd spent most of his adult life fucking up, apparently, even though he didn't really believe in cosmic balances or God or anything like that.

He believed in Tony Stark. Or, more appropriately -- more honestly -- wasn't this fucked up? He believed in Iron Man.

And he had just enough time to think _oh fuck, this is why I do not think_ before Jarvis' mechanical voice stuttered out a crash report (and Jarvis did not stutter, that meant the suit was failing, holy shit) and he went plummeting down, down, down.

In the middle of a halfway renovated room, Pepper Potts clutched her glass of wine so hard that it cracked, but she didn't even notice. She just kept repeating, over and over again as Happy placed a hand on her shoulder, "I can't do this, you can't do this to me, I just can't do this anymore."

*

It turned out it was Thor who caught him this time. He wasn't actually that far up in the sky, so Thor managed to scoop him up bridal-style and deposit him comfortably in the middle of the street in front of Steve, because of _course_ he would put him right in front of Steve. Tony wasn't actually awake for this portion of the events, but Clint later deadpanned to him that he'd never seen Cap look quite so intense and goddamn scary as he did when he was peeling away layers of the Iron Man suit.

(Peeling away. _Peeling_. Sure, the battle had damaged it somewhat and if you knew where the joints were it was reasonable you could get a fingerhold and ease the armor off, but that still had to be some crazy adrenaline and, well, strength in general. He'd have been more pissed about it if he hadn't been just a little bit impressed.)

So that was how he'd come to wake up with his chest plate torn open, Steve Rogers rapping his fingertips against the arc reactor as though that would wake him up, and Thor and Clint giving him mutual looks of relieved aggression.

Seriously, the fact that people could get angry with him for living was getting really damn old. But that was neither here nor there.

He coughed, Steve jerked back, and everyone stared at one another for a few very tense seconds.

"We have got to stop meeting like this, Captain," he slurred, and he caught the half-second of delighted, wild smile before Steve dragged a gloved hand down his face and groaned.

"You need to stop passing out in mid-flight," he returned, smearing sweat and dirt and blood all over his face. "But at least this time you did it after the battle was over. How many fingers?"

Tony focused on the hand in front of him, counted, and then asked, "Are we considering the thumb a finger today?"

Clint snorted. "He's making smartass comments. He's fine. Only you, Stark."

"You worry us greatly in every battle," Thor scolded, but it was with a grin, and he swiped his messy hair back from his face. "But you are a true warrior."

Absurdly touched, and not wanting to examine why he was touched, Tony returned, "Gee, thanks, Thor."

"You are welcome," Thor boomed, just as Steve added, "I'm not done with you yet, what hurts?"

"What _doesn't_ hurt?" Tony asked, struggling to sit up. Steve placed both hands on his shoulders, easing him into a sitting position. "Jarvis! Am I capable of flight?"

"Unfortunately, no," Jarvis returned, a little hitch and break in his voice that made Tony wince. Yeah, whole lot of damage done there.

"Come on, then," Steve said, banding an arm underneath one of Tony's. He guided him to a standing position, and when Tony began to pull away, Steve simply grunted and shifted closer.

It was awkward as hell as far as positioning went, and Tony immediately insisted, "I can walk. Just give me five."

With a hint of something that _might_ have been fondness in his weary, business-like tone, Cap returned, "Next time you can carry me out, all right, big guy?"

"Was that a short joke?" Tony demanded, finally giving in and slumping against Steve's side. Without pause, Steve adjusted his grip, taking more of Tony's weight. It was sort of nice, in a weird kind of way, this teammate thing.

Steve shot him a smile, a little boyish, a little hesitant around the edges. "Maybe so."

"Jerk," Tony said, with no real heat.

Steve bundled him into a seat in one of the mysteriously-appearing S.H.I.E.L.D. transport vehicles, taking the time to make sure he was buckled up before he settled himself beside him and signaled the driver to go.

A silence fell between them, not exactly comfortable but not exactly horrible, either, until Steve said, "Bucky used to call me all kinds of things. Never meant harm, but I guess I've stocked 'em up."

It was the perfect opening to do one of two very drastic things. He could take it in the spirit it was intended, as a team-bonding exercise or... or whatever the Captain intended, and he could cozy up and they could become great friends and paint each other's nails and talk about boys, or whatever the hell he was supposed to do with actual, real friends who were Rhodey or Happy. Or he could mull it over, work through his wicked headache and say something, anything, to put that distance back between them. It'd be easy, even. He'd do that. He didn't need Captain America and all his good intentions shoving their way into his life, so he would just --

"I am offended and I begin to think we aren't friends," he said, which was not what he intended at all.

And then Steve looked at him in surprise, surprise and a bit of reproach, and he said immediately, "Of course we're friends." Then, after a pause, "If you want us to be."

And what the hell was he supposed to say to that, anyway? So he just blinked, and looked away, and muttered something that neither of them paid much attention to. Which was fine, because the car stopped and they got shuffled out to different corners of the medical bay, and once again they told him there was nothing wrong with his head that hadn't been wrong with it before.

Still, he felt restless, and he snuck out before anybody had a chance to come check on him, just because.


	4. Which then turned into a quiet word.

It had been a few weeks since he and Pepper had broken up, and he was fine. Absolutely fine. He was, in fact, so fine -- _fine_ , Jarvis -- that he hadn't bothered to check in with any of his teammates or Pepper or anyone, really, because he was just that fine. Relationships ended all the time, and Tony Stark was not an idiot; he'd known that what he and Pepper had was good and that meant it wouldn't last, because just because something was _good_ didn't mean it was _right_ _._ Frankly, he'd rather break up and have a chance to going back to exactly how things had been before than drag out a dying relationship to the point where they hated each other and never wanted to speak again, because that was no way to be. Pepper was too damn important to him.

Maybe he could have put up more of a fight, but it wasn't like she'd really expected him to. The conversation had gone:

"I can't do this anymore, Tony."

"Can't do what, Pepper?"

"Don't. You know."

"Oh."

" _Oh_? Is that all you--"

"I mean, oh, okay. It's fine. No big. No harm, no foul. Friends, right?"

And she'd seemed so tired, so tired and sad and frustrated and not the _least_ bit surprised, but she'd smiled and said, "Of course."

So that was how he'd broken up with the best woman to ever give him a chance, and he figured that if he could handle losing that he could handle anything. And obviously he could, because he'd been twice as productive as usual, he was on top of his game when he was in the suit, and no matter how many times Bruce stared at him with grim understanding, he was not going to break down and sob into a pile of scrap metal. One, because that would be uncomfortable, and two, because he didn't need to sob.

He was a grown man. He and his girlfriend had broken up -- which he had seen coming from a mile away, thank you very much -- so now he was a single, grown man. He preferred being single for a number of reasons, the obvious ones not even bearing elucidating, but there was also the quiet, unsettled thought that maybe he _needed_ to stay single.

After all, if Pepper couldn't handle this lifestyle, it was likely no one could. And should he really ask them to? Hell, he would have been hard pressed to find someone to handle Tony Stark alone, not to mention the Molotov cocktail that was Tony/Stark Iron man.

 __And he didn't really want to settle down, anyway, because what was the point?

So he was fine. And without looking up, he said, "I swear to God, Bruce, if you give me that look one more time, _I_ will Hulk out."

"It is not Dr. Banner at the door," Jarvis informed him crisply, which had Tony's head snapping up even as he shoved his goggles up and into his hair.

"What?" His gaze fell on Steve, grim-faced and holding a -- a brown paper sack? -- and there was a moment of perfect, startling silence.

Something beeped behind him, and he jumped a little. "What? Who gave you codes?" Uh, shit, that had sounded way worse than he meant it to. "I mean, Cap, wow, what a truly inspired, unexpected visit. Please come in, don't mind the mess, don't touch anything. What's in the bag?"

He was well aware that he wasn't giving Steve any room to get a word in edgewise, which was kind of his brilliant strategy, but Steve didn't seem to mind. He was looking around the lab with polite curiosity that was a little bit short on the 'polite' factor, and Tony had to resist the urge to squirm.

Not because he was embarrassed. Because this was _his_ lab, and he didn't like people in it when he hadn't invited them, and a lot of things were half-finished, okay, and it wasn't like Steve would be interested in the process of any of them because he wouldn't be able to understand even the basics, and wow.

He was just being the most uncharitable bastard in the world today, wasn't he?

He'd half-risen from his seat, and in doing so realized just how cramped his muscles were, so he distracted himself by stretching. Steve calmly approached, one thick blond brow raised nearly to his hairline, and held the brown paper sack out in one hand.

"Lunch," he said, eyes just slightly-too-wide for the serious expression he was trying to pull. Tony narrowed his gaze and tried to peg it -- amusement, maybe? -- and decided that was a lost cause.

"Not hungry." Even as he said it, his stomach rolled uncomfortably. "Nice gesture, though. I appreciate the thought. Nothing heroic to do today?"

Maybe he was so bitchy because he hadn't eaten. He frowned at the sack, and when Steve shook it at him, he just sighed and accepted it. "Is this -- wow, it is. Seriously?"

He pulled out two wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, too baffled to be properly witty or snarky about the contents. PB&J?

"Who sent you?" He demanded, unwrapping one because, hey, free food. "And is this your idea of comfort food? Because it's kind of perfect," he added, eyes going wide after the first bite.

A bit heavy on the jelly, but he had a weakness for grape jelly.

"Why would I be trying to feed you comfort food?" Steve asked, settling himself in a chair and giving Tony a pointed look.

He thumbed some excess jelly away from the corner of his mouth, throwing himself back into the chair. "Please, Cap. Stupid isn't a good look on you. We both know that I broke up with Pepper and everyone thinks the world is ending."

Steve lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, pulling another sandwich out of the bag. "These," he said, gesturing to it. "Were still new and fancy in my day. I like them."

 __It was a testament to the fact that he was actually growing _fond_ of Steve that his immediate response was, "Yeah, and so was pre-sliced bread, right? It's insane. You hand me a loaf, I'm going to take a bite out of it. Nowadays, we almost don't know what to do with bread that's not sliced for us."

He crossed his feet at the ankles, catching another glob of jelly and then licking it off his palm. Steve made a face, but that was probably because there was motor oil on his hand -- yech, actually, in retrospect, he'd tasted that -- but didn't  comment.

"But seriously," Tony said into the silence, shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. "'m fine."

"I know," Steve said, giving him a patient look. "We're not talking about it because I know you're fine. We're just eating sandwiches."

Tony narrowed his eyes, reaching for the bag to peek inside. "How many sandwiches did you make, anyway? Am I out of jelly?"

That smile shouldn't have been as endearing as it was. "Maybe."

"And don't think that blue-eyed boy scout look is going to work on me," he added, enthusiastically eating the entire middle out of his next sandwich. "I know why you're here. Mind games don't work with a genius."

Steve sighed, gesturing at his face. "You've got jelly in your goatee."

"That just means my goatee is delicious," he shot back, opening his mouth wide and trying to catch up all the excess jelly with his tongue.

He was startled to hear Steve laugh, startled even more by the way he grinned and shook his head after, the fond look on his face as chuckles vibrated his chest like aftershocks. It occurred to him suddenly that he'd never heard Steve laugh before, and it occurred to him just as suddenly that he liked it and he was smiling in return.

Uh, oops. When had he and the Cap become _friends_?

"You're like a kid," Steve said, shaking his head and taking another bite of his sandwich. Tony would have argued for form, but just as he opened his mouth, the bottom end of Steve's sandwich opened as well, dumping jelly all over his right thigh.

Steve peered down at his leg, brow furrowed, lips pinched together, and then said blandly, "Aw, shucks."

Unable to help it, Tony threw back his head and chortled, waving a hand uselessly at him. "Oh, this is -- this is excellent, this is -- yes. Graceful. Dignified. America's hero, ladies and gentlemen."

Without missing a beat, Steve gestured toward Tony and shot back, "America's genius, ladies and gentlemen."

Then they just grinned at each other, and Tony forgot to remind himself that he was fine, thanks.


End file.
